


Cat and Mouse

by 398_2 (orphan_account)



Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII-2, Final Fantasy XV, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, PSICOM, Seduction, lightis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/398_2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who's hunting who?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Helen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [relear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/relear/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Buchielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buchielle/gifts), [Fey_Effervesence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fey_Effervesence/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Menelaus, if you are really going to kill her, then my blessing go with you, but you must do it now, before her looks so twist the strings of your heart that they turn your mind; for her eyes are like armies, and where her glances fall, there cities burn, until the dust of their ashes is blown by her sighs. I know her, Menelaus, and so do you. And all those who know her suffer."  
> -Hecuba speaking of Helen of Troy in Euripedes, "The Trojan Women"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own the song lyrics - that belongs to Neon Trees.

Attention is the last thing she needs.

It's why she has Rygdea drive her to the Lucis Corp headquarters in his car. It is a beat up old BMW aptly christened the 'Junkbucket' that Rygdea absolutely refuses to let go of. It used to be green, given ugly splotches of the colour appearing in random places where rust has not touched it yet and its two side windows in the back cannot be wound down. The engine protests and whines and then finally stalls all together just as they reach the front doors.

"No, no, no baby don't do this to me!" Rygdea groans, banging his head against the steering wheel.

She shakes her head as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She has nothing but apathy for the piece of shit car. She smirks at the wince he makes when she slams the door especially hard.  "I don't know why you keep it around—you're paid more than enough to afford ten of these things."

At once Rygdea looks up at her with a vengeance.  She manages to save her pocketbook from hitting the pavement as he tosses it out the window.   "This ' _thing_ **'** ," he says witheringly "is a classic. And if you don't like it, walking is good exercise."

"Whatever." She cranes her neck as she glances up at the building that seems to bathe the entire town square in its shadow.  Lucis Corp.

_It’s probably too late to back out now._

"Got everything you need babe?"

She checks her handbag, and swears as she starts rummaging it. "Shit. My resumé…I swear it was right—"

He laughs and holds up the manila folder, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Since when do you 'enjoy working with people'?"

“Since oh,” she pretends to contemplate it “none of your business,” she deadpans, snatching it off him.

“You know, this would go a lot easier if you just scheduled an appointment under your real name.  I’m not saying you won’t be able to handle yourself, but I think you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgement.  And this guy is smart; _you’_ smart.  He’s gonna smell a dead stinking rat the moment you open your mouth.”

“Rygdea, tell me because I’m curious: we’ve worked together in the Corps for what, five years?”

“Six, give or take.”

“And during those ‘six, give or take’ years, exactly how many times have you been wrong?”

All he has to offer her is a blank expression.

She pats him on the head.  “For future reference cowboy, it’s one hundred and thirty-three.”

With a triumphant smile, she turns heel and starts climbing the stairs, making her way for the doors. She wonders if the doorman heard their conversation because his expression is oddly sympathetic.  Before she can give that another thought her cell phone distracts her and she grimaces at the name on the Caller ID. 

The day just keeps getting better and better.

* * *

Noctis Lucis Caelum is bored.

Having just finished a successful business proposal with potential clients, he is on his way to his next one, making his way briskly to the elevators to avoid unnecessary chatter with employees. He is almost at the doors when he sees  _her_  standing there; cellphone in hand with her back to him and pacing about in the waiting lounge of reception, arguing with someone on the other end in rapid-fire Tenebrean. His steps slow down considerably and she barely notices his presence as he passes, too preoccupied with threatening-at least that's what it sounds like to him-the poor son-of-a-bitch on the other end of the line.

He leans against the counter and clears his throat once to get the intern's attention, wondering if he knows anything of value about the strawberry blonde with the endless legs and enticing figure.

The boy at the computer is star struck in his presence. He makes to stand up but Noctis forces him back into his seat before he can attract attention. He nods over to the woman and the boy catches on immediately—he’d have to given his overqualified background. Human Resources has never disappointed him.

He holds out his hand, and like clockwork, a manila folder is presented to him.

He skims over her file, preferring its perfect use as a makeshift cover to peer at her, kicking himself for not studying Tenebrean when he had the chance. It would have been so easy just to wait until she finished her call before striking up a conversation with her.

Casually, of course.

 _Know first, seduce later._ Usually he skips straight to step two if a woman possessed nothing less than half a brain, but today, he suspects, a little investment on his part is going to be required. That's fine-he's good at investing, absolutely revels in the tentative balance between risk and reward.

"What time's her interview?" Noctis asks. A brief tapping of keystrokes and he receives his answer.

"1 pm this afternoon."

 _Good boy._ He pats the boy on the head. "Reschedule it to five minutes from now."

Because that's all Noctis Lucis Caelum needs.

* * *

She stands immediately as he enters the office, annoyed at the overwhelming arrogance he wears as copiously as the expensive Hugo Boss cologne that now dominates the entire room and her sense of smell. Briefly, as expensive leather oxfords cross the room and make their way behind his equally expensive desk, she entertains the thought of setting him alight.

Cologne, she reasons, contains alcohol, and alcohol is flammable. So engrossed is she in that particular scene playing out in her head; she almost misses the gloved hand held out to her. She is repulsed at the idea of touching  _'scum like him'_ , but a little voice reminds her why she is here and she swallows her pride. His hand dominates the handshake, almost triumphant, as if he has succeeded in trapping her. In fact, as she is now realizing too late, it is not a handshake at all-more of a caress. As long thin fingers, graze her skin through tight leather, the concept of boundaries comes to mind. He speaks then and although his tone is professional, the underlying sexual undertone is so palpable, a blind man would have been able to reach out and touch it…or perhaps shift further away.

"A  _pleasure_  to meet you Miss…" he trails off, giving a chance for her to speak. She senses anticipation in his voice.

Raising her eyes, she finally is able to assess him in properly, and she realizes glossy photos in magazines do not do him justice. His most striking feature, she has to say, is his eyes. They are more than blue, a beautiful cobalt that reminds her of the ocean on a hot summer's day. Trying to stop herself from getting too distracted her eyes move to his hair, black as sin, silky and uniform in the front, messy, rogue spikes at the back. In all honesty, it is an extremely ridiculous haircut for a CEO, but he pulls it off excellently.    _He looks like a cartoon character,_ she thinks.

 _A very good-looking cartoon character,_ a voice in the back of her head adds slyly.

She notices a smile on his face.

Oh fuck, he's caught her staring.

* * *

He listens as she clears her throat. "Claire Farron. I'm here for—"

"The interview, I know" Noctis interrupts smoothly, though internally reeling at how eager she is to pull her hand out of his grasp. He recovers in an instant – a feat impossible for most men - and smiles again. He is fascinated by the curve of her mouth, and the thin line her lips are making.

 _And Maker be damned, that_ voice _…_

So brisk, so direct, so without pretence, a shut-down to most men; a huge turn on to him. She had absolutely zero interest in him.

_Good._

Such delicate features and rosy cheeks, she reminds him of a porcelain doll…although there has to be something noted about her posture: it's more rigid than straight, and her chin is raised and strong, proud. Almost as if she’s challenging him.

He’s always liked challenges, hasn't he? Wouldn't have gotten to where he was if he didn't. Before she can sit down he stops her. 

Her expression abruptly loses its cold exterior, replaced by momentary confusion. He wonders what other expressions he can bring out of her. The chance to experiment is impossible to resist.  "Tell me, Miss Farron, have you had lunch yet?"

"Sir?"

This is going to be fun.

On the drive to his usual place, his thoughts are filled with nothing but the woman beside him. He wonders if her skin is as soft as it looks, wonders what she looks like with her hair down, wonders what it is that makes her smell so damn  _good_  that it makes his blood head nowhere but one direction.  He’s only human for starting to imagine what she looks like naked, too.

When she shifts in her seat to stare out the window, and her hand accidentally brushes against his on the gear, the needle on the speedometer suddenly jumps an inch.

He coughs and hopes she doesn't notice.

* * *

As the Mustang roars along the highway, she is filled with trepidation. She had assumed lunch would be in a ridiculously overpriced restaurant in the city, but with the way Cocoon has disappeared behind them long ago she is now struggling to sit still.  This is not part of the plan. 

_I am not going to lose to Rygdea._

Or at least, he’s not going to find out if she does, anyway.

* * *

He continues to watch the woman in the corner of his eye. She still has not said a word since they've left, preferring to gaze anywhere, except in his direction. She isn’t the first woman to throw up a wall of feigned indifference, but even he has to admit that Claire seems to be in a league all her own.  The aura of inaccessible poise about her annoys and yet thrills him at the same time. When a sudden smile finally melts through that cold mask, probably from a memory, he decides that no other moment would be more opportune to speak.

"And here I thought I'd have to wrestle one out of you.”

When she finally turns to him those ice blue eyes seem to freeze him right where he is.  "Excuse me?"

"I was starting to think you were incapable of smiling." _Or breathing._

She radiates irritation at that comment and he chuckles. "Miss Farron relax. This isn't an execution."

She crosses her arms, unaware that doing so emphasizes her chest area quite nicely. "With all due respect,  _sir_. Most people don't have their  _bosses_ , take them out for lunch."

"Well, most bosses don't forget to eat," Noctis smiles.  On the inside he kicks himself.  What kind of a dumbass line was that? _I might as well get a megaphone and proposition her right here and now._

She sighs.  "I really don't think having lunch with you will help build my rapport with the other employees."

 _That's because your rapport belongs to me and me alone,_ he wants to say _._ He waves her reservations off with a free hand before reaching forward to switch on the radio.

 

_"Hey baby won't you look my way  
I can be your new addiction...."_

_You can say that again,_  Noctis thinks. 

He steals another glance.


	2. (Ulterior) Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The enchantment lies in what is hidden."-Jean Baudrillard, DE LA SÉDUCTION

In the bathroom of Lebreau’s Light paces back and forth in front of the sink, tempted to splash water on her face; refraining only because it'll be a bitch to redo her makeup.  A few moments pass and she doesn't care anymore. Just as her fingers brush the faucet her phone rings and she groans. She knows who it is without even having to check and mentally prepares herself. Actually, she is amazed that she hasn't called sooner.

She holds it away from her ear. Last time she swore she couldn't hear out of it properly for a week. "Hello Fang."

" _Don't ‘hello Fang’ me.  Details bitch!  The GPS has your ass in another city,”_ the Pulsian half hollers, half laughs. 

“Does it now?”

_“Hmph.  The GPS never lies girlie.  So what happened?  I heard your quest for retribution hit a little snag.”_

“On the contrary, I think it’s going very well.”

_“And your idea of ‘very well’ is ending up in a bar about a few miles away from his—ahem—‘humble’ abode?”_

Light examines her nails pompously and feigns innocence.  "Really?  He lives around here?”

_“You’re unbelievable.”_

“ _Charitable_ ,” Light corrects her, “poor baby said he hadn't eaten.  How could I say no to that?"

 _“I retract my prior statement: you’re insane,”_  Fang chuckles.

“Oh, baby I know.”

* * *

His cell phone rings while he waits and after conveying a smile in thanks to the server as drinks are placed on the table, he answers it.

 _“Where are you?"_ Ignis sounds agitated, which is actually...nothing out of the ordinary. But it usually only means one thing: trouble. Not that Noctis has ever given a rat's ass.

He studies the other people in the restaurant, and recognizes a business associate who smiles and tries to wave him over. Noctis politely indicates to his cell phone. The man laughs and turns back to his own table.

"I'm in the middle of an interview," Noctis says. He notices a waitress staring and waves pointedly.  Narrowly, she avoids dropping the plates she is carrying. The head server smiles diplomatically at him before promptly dragging her out to the kitchens by the ear for a verbal lashing. 

" _I know,”_ Ignis snaps _“Is she with you right now?"_

"She's in the bathroom."  _And has been there for some time_. 

" _Get out of there. She's bad news."_

“I’m listening.”

Ignis is back to his normal, emotionally-retarded self again. No doubt the man is adjusting his glasses. Noctis has told that idiot time and time again to get ones that actually sit on his face properly.

_"We found some discrepancies in her academic history-they were minor, like the spelling of school names etc—"_

"I’ve got half a mind to hang up on you right now."

_"—so we contacted her old schools, just to confirm that her transcripts checked out."_

"And did they?"

" _Yes.”_

“Well then, there you go.”

_“That's not the disturbing part. While checking the roll, a very interesting name popped up on the list.  There’s even a few photos with said person.  And they look close.  Sister close."_

"Who?"

The name Noctis receives is the last one he wants to hear, but he’s relieved to hear it nonetheless.  It helps explain the cold-shoulder vibes Claire’s been giving him. 

"Is that so?” he muses.   

_“You’re…awfully calm about this.”_

Noctis rolls his eyes.  “She’s just a _woman,_ Ignis.”

“ _Who happens to be a very close friend of the one and only—"_

"You think she’s here because of _that?”_

 _"Hell have no wrath,"_ Ignis laughs, though the latter sounds slightly nervous.

“She’s not gonna go Basic Instinct on me, is she?”

“ _I don’t know.”_

“What’s that supposed to mean?  You know everything.”

“ _That’s_ exactly _what I mean.  I doubt ‘Claire Farron’ is even her real name.  So I kicked over a few rocks, tried to poke around.  Guess what popped up?”_

“Big brother is watching you?” Noctis teases. 

_“Close.  What’s your take on PSICOM?”_

“Uh...huh…”

 _“Not just a pretty face, I know.  She’s gone to great lengths to keep her personal life in the dark, believe me.  The only reason why I even found the connection between her and the Fleuret Group is because the media_ adores _Stella;_ royalty _adore, Noct.  No one can buy their way out of that.  I can’t think of anything we’ve developed for PSICOM to take an interest in Lucis Corp, but just to be safe...._ _Noct?”_

Noctis' tone is clipped. “Yeah, I hear you.  If she kills me, no one’s gonna miss me, right?”

 _“What are you talking about?"_ Ignis laughs _"I’ll miss you.”_

“That’s because I pay your salary,” Noctis mutters, getting out of his seat. 

Ignis sounds something close to elated as the server hands him the bill. " _I assume you're halfway to your car now?"_

"Something like that," Noctis answers, pulling out his wallet.

 _“Uh...there’ll be other fish,"_ Ignis offers consolingly.

“Shut up."

 _“Shady military branches aside, our friends at Nautilus called. They want to know if you’re still on for_ _Saturday.”_

“I said I’d do it, didn’t I?”

 _“No need to get snippy.  Sazh said if you’re too busy he's got someone else to do the presentation.  I told_ _them you were.”_

“Thanks.  There’s been enough crazy for this week.  Don’t need another-”

The door of the ladies room finally opens and just as he turns--as most people do out of habit--he sees Claire exit, pausing to hold it open for an elderly woman. 

_She's...smiling._

Not the forced ones he’s been getting on the way over, but a genuine smile, the kind that warms your insides, turns you into a total sap and makes you want to run out into an open field Julie Andrews' style.

_"So when you get back, make a stopover: I've got a few numbers I wanna run by you."_

The only number he wants, Noctis realizes, as his thumb finds the magic red button to switch off his cell...

…is  _hers_.

Makerdamn him, makerdamnit all.

* * *

After taking a long sip from his glass she watches him relax into his seat.  Her file is open in front of him, and he questions her while perusing it.

"So Claire," he begins, "tell me about yourself. Why do you want to work for this company?"

 _I want to crush you,_  Light wants to say. Instead, "I enjoy working with people," comes out.

She notices a smile dancing in the corners of his mouth and suppresses the urge to splash her orange juice in his face. Everything this man does seems to hint at a double entendre. She reaches for her glass and takes a drink out of it, shaking her head internally. It is his eyes that give him away-so full of mischief and no-good, were it not for the fact that she needs him to hire her…

_Curse him for being so good-looking._

He laughs good-naturedly and she is left wondering. His laugh sounds so genuine and infectious. He doesn't seem at all like the man Stella made him out to be.  _Or maybe he's just a good actor._

"Your conduct so far has made me think otherwise," she hears Noctis say, cutting off her reverie.

She clears her throat. "I like to keep things professional."

His eyebrow quirks upward in interest. "Don't like to mix business with pleasure?"

She hates the way he says 'pleasure' as if the only meaning behind it is lewd. 

"Things are less complicated, sir, less subjective." Light replies, forcing herself to get a grip. "If you eliminate the need to please others, it is easier to get things done."

A surprised chuckle escapes his lips. He is not easily convinced-as expected. She knows all about the beautiful female managers of rival companies he has at his beck and call. The number of swoons that followed them in the halls as he ushered her to the elevator back at the office is evidence enough of his charisma.

"But how can you expect to go far with that sort of mindset?" he says. "These days it's not about what you know, but  _who_  you know. Having a good network and friends helps make the climb easier."

"The road less travelled is not for the faint hearted.”

He blinks, as if surprised to hear that.  “You live by that motto?”

“It’s a guideline, yes.”

“Good one too,” he agrees, smiling admiringly.  It almost throws her off.  The way his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners without squinting seems to convey a silent message to whomever the smile is directed at.

 _Trust me_.

 _Not on your life,_ she replies silently.

“I see.  So integrity means a lot to you, does it?”

"Of course,” Light answers as he finally sets the folder down in front of him. She sees the page that he is on and mentally curses. It is her academic transcripts, however one of the names of her old schools is spelt wrong. In the eyes of someone intelligent as he is, it has the potential to unravel everything.

_Fucking Rygdea.  When I get my hands on that son of a bitch—_

Her gaze returns to Noctis and she suppresses a frown as the gears in her head begin to churn.  _Come to think of it, he was on the phone while I was in the bathroom..._

She is distracted briefly when the glass of soda touches his lips. His eyes do not leave hers as he takes a sip, and she forces herself to breathe easy. It is a minor mistake. Perhaps Human Resources is too busy with the hundreds of fresh-faced university graduates who apply daily to take notice. Yes, that's right. The probability of the tiny blunder being overlooked is in her favour…

Just as Noctis is setting the glass back down on the table, the smile on his handsome face dissolves into a malicious smirk. 

 _I’m going to kill Rygdea,_ Light thinks.

She keeps her breathing level as he leans forward on the table between them, taking all of her attention as he sees fit; elbows leaning against the edge of the wood and his hands only centimetres from her own. His cologne, although slightly subdued from exposure to the air conditioning in the restaurant still manages to ensnare all of her senses, suffocating her. It is in his eyes, clear as day. 

"Why don’t you tell me why you’re _really_ here?"

_Plan...B._

***

For a second he almost thinks that she is about to lie to him, but he can see in her eyes that she is smarter than that.

She reaches over and clinks her glass against his in a silent acknowledgement of his victory, before draining it all in one gulp. Setting it back on to the table, she finally relaxes-in every sense of the word- back into her seat and smiles while tracing the line of her mouth with a finger, never once leaving his gaze as she slowly dabs her lips clean. Noctis swallows, half nervous, half in anticipation. PSICOM or no PSICOM, fuck  _him_  if that wasn't one of the most sexiest displays he’s ever seen.

And her eyes, _Maker, her eyes._ They are suddenly no longer unassuming, no longer averting from his like when they were in the car-they pierce him right through. His pulse quickens.

"Don't miss a thing do you?" she says. Her tone is indifferent and cold, a much needed splash of water to the face to reign himself in. He smiles sheepishly in a bid to thaw that crisp demeanour of hers. It's a tactic that usually works on all the women he has pursued. Does it work? He is not sure. She appears bored at the very most. Then again, it could all be an act.

"Actually, I almost did," he tells her, gauging her reaction closely "but a very good friend of mine pointed me in the right direction."

"I'd really like to meet this friend of yours," she replies. It actually bothers him that she seems so uncaring about the situation that she's in. He decides to play along.

"If you want I can put in a good word for you," he offers, sending a wink in her direction.

She is on the verge of laughing; he sees it in her eyes and is sure of it but to his annoyance she suppresses it with a smile. Not the smile he wanted to see, but pretty damn close because his heart flutters at the sight.

"I'd hate to put you through the trouble," she says, putting a hand to her heart.

He raises an eyebrow at that. Are they flirting now? A plan to conquer this indomitable spirit finally comes to mind and he smiles. It will most certainly be fun. "No trouble at all," he says. "But seriously.  Why are you here?"

"I," she makes quotation marks in the air "'enjoy working with people'."

In spite of the seriousness of the situation he laughs. "I'm sure you do. Does Stella know that you are here with me at this very moment?" he adds slyly.

"Mmm so you know about that, do you?”

“And then some.  So?”

“Your guess is as good as hers.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning this was all a waste of time.  I have to go.  Excuse me."  Saying that, she stands and picks up her handbag, slinging it on one shoulder before she retrieves her cell phone. She is the epitome of boredom as she scrolls it before messaging someone.

At once Noctis curses on the inside. She is leaving—he cannot possibly allow her to do so.

"Giving up that easily?" he teases. It's amazing how he does not sound as nervous as he feels—a  fucking miracle, actually.

She scoffs. "Unlike  _you_ , sir, I know a lost cause when I see one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other more pressing engagements that I should have prioritised."

She starts walking, every single click of her heels against the hardwood feeling like a kick in the balls. It is not like him to take offense at such a trivial remark so easily, but he does.

"You think I'm afraid of you?" Noctis says, still within earshot.

"You'd have to be the dumbest man alive not to be," Claire replies, waving without turning back. "Farewell, Noctis Lucis Caelum. Lunch with you was as…" ice blue eyes survey him critically " _unappetizing_  as I had expected it would be."

His eyes narrow at the condescension in her tone and he is forced to play the only card that will make her stay.  There are just too many people in the restaurant who have stopped eating and are now tuning in to watch.  He is not going to let this one get away.  He is not going to lose.

"It would be embarrassing to report to the Fleuret Group empty-handed, wouldn't it?" he calls.

That question is enough to stop her in her tracks.

Kinda makes his heart stop as well.

If there really is a Maker out there, he's just earned himself one firm believer. He silently murmurs a prayer of thanks as Claire turns and eyes him cynically, a single eyebrow perfectly raised. Smiling, he stands and gestures to the seat across from him politely.

_Gotcha._

* * *

"What do you want?" Light snaps.

He pretends to contemplate that and she is tempted to stab him with his own fork. She has the agility to pull it off after all. He holds a single slender finger in front of her face.

"I will agree to hire you on one condition."

"Let's hear it then."

A sly smile works its way across his face. "Dinner."

“You’re funny.”

“Aren’t I just?”  From his wallet he places a ridiculous sum of gil on the table, before he twirls his car keys on a finger.  "All you have to do is show up.  Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

Her eyes narrow slightly.  “What if I have other plans?”

"Cancel them."

"I can't."

“Cry me a river.  7 o'clock at the Prima Vista. I’ll be waiting."

On that note he then leaves, with her glaring daggers in his back as he saunters out of the door. A drunk at the bar applauds loudly before he is joined by other males in the restaurant. In the usual spirit of male misogyny, she hears laughter; a catcall or two; numerous wolf-whistles.  She waits.  The bartender tries to quiet down the racket, to no avail.  He looks at her and shrugs; she reads the non-verbal cue perfectly:

_I tried._

She shrugs too.  _I know._

She continues to wait: until the Mustang’s roar can no longer be heard; until he is safely gone.  When he is, a smile, cold and calculating, spreads across her lips.  Her cell phone rings and she answers as she makes her way for the door. 

“7 o’clock, Prima Vista.  You owe me a drink.  Oh, and tell Rygdea the score’s one hundred and thirty-four.”

Only the bartender hears.


	3. How You Like Me Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Men are like cats, ya know? Sure, we'll play with a ball of yarn, unless you want us to play with the ball of yarn. Trick is: hide the ball of yarn.....  
> But don't hide it where you can't find it, ya know? Like, 'Hey, what's the ball of yarn doing in the fridge?' Whatever. Ya know what I'm saying?"  
> -Washburn (Taxi, 2004)

In the mirror's reflection Light frowns while Serah tut-tuts and holds her hair in a messy bundle above her neck.  Both their noses wrinkle in unison and her sister releases the mass to let it fall around her face haphazardly.  

“You should let your hair grow out a little more,” Serah sighs as Light hands her the hairbrush.  

“It’s part of regulation,” Light lies. 

“Well, tell your boss he sucks.  I can’t really do anything with this.”

“Your diagnosis, doctor?”

“You’re gonna have to wear it down, I guess."

“Work your magic.”

“Don't see anyone else here," Serah grumbles. 

Light hears a tiny click as the curling iron is switched on.  And then while Serah begins dividing it into sections, she sees her sister's lips quirk upward. 

She groans, knowing what _that_ means, but is still forced to play along.  "What."

"So I’m...guessing he must be hot if you're blowing me off to go to some fancy dinner," Serah says, nudging her.  

"Not really,” Light shakes her head “no."

"So why are you fussing over something so tiny?" Serah grins.   

Light grins back, reaches out and pinches her.  "Because, smartass, if I'm going to go to hell for this, I might as well look good."

As Serah bursts into fits of laughter, the smile on Light's face dims slightly.   _She laughs too easily,_  she thinks, while the latter winds a section of her hair around the iron before clamping down. Light remains quiet and listens to the soft din the steam makes as it rises.  

 "What are you smiling about?" Serah has paused in her work now, eyes narrowed in the same way Light’s does when she’s suspicious. The thought of Serah turning out to be exactly like her makes her shake her head internally. 

"Nothing.  I'm just glad I can always count on you to keep me grounded."

"Huh.  I wish you could count on someone else though," Serah remarks as she starts curling another section.

"I don't have the time."

"That’s because you’re too busy breaking people’s hearts.  Trusting another human being is not going to kill you, you know.  And the only way you can learn to do _that_ is if you stop doing _this_.”

"You know what I mean," Light says tiredly, toying with the little container of bobby pins on her dressing table.  “PSICOM isn’t 'white picket fence', 'settle down, have lots of children' material.”

Serah's smile disappears.  "How long are you off for?" she asks quietly.  

Light forces a smile.  "As long as I want, Serah.  My supervisor thinks I'm working too hard.”

“You _are_ ,” Serah frowns, placing her hands on her hips.

“Which is why I'm meeting with him to discuss it."

“You’d better be.  And this CEO guy: is he a 'job' too?"

Light fiddles with a section of hair that Serah hasn't reached yet.  "He's...a favour for a friend."

Serah’s tone is gentle as she touches her arm.  “Light—”

“I know what you’re going to say and you’re absolutely right Serah.  Which is why he’s going to be the last, I promise.”

“Some part of you  _has_  to know that this is kind of evil, right?  I mean, even if he deserves it, you’re just perpetuating the cycle."

“Last one,” Light says, “and then I’ll stop.”

"Tilt your head a bit,” Serah instructs. The sound of steam hissing from the curling iron fills the silence between them for a while before the younger woman speaks again.  “Think about the way you're going about it: manipulating them, seducing them, making them fall in love with you and then _vanishing_?  Isn't that kind of cruel?"

"It's called givng them a taste of their own medicine."

"Say you took down every single womanising bastard in this universe.  Wouldn't the last one be you?  You'd be the last evil person in the world.  Who would cure  _you_?"

“You pose an interesting philosophical question, Serah," Light admits softly.  

"I hear a but in there somewhere."

 But I’m not interested in answering it.”

“I hate you.”

“Are we done?”

“Your hair is," Serah grumbles as the curling iron is switched off. While Light smiles at her handiwork in the mirror Serah shakes her head at her.  "Your  _morals_ , on the other hand…”

“I don’t need help with morals right now,” Light says, standing and walking over to the closet.  She turns and smiles.  “I need help picking out a dress.”

“No you don’t,” Serah laughs.

“Humour me.”

* * *

He has just finished showering when he hears the doorbell ring. It only takes him a few seconds to reach downstairs and pull it open.

"Why hello neighbour," he winks at an utterly livid Ignis on the doorstep. "What brings you here on this fine evening?"

Ignis holds up the freshly dry-cleaned Tom Ford.  “You really have to ask?”

"Much obliged," Noctis chuckles, taking it from him and making way for him to enter.

He watches as Ignis skulks inside, tossing his car keys atop of the bureau near the door before he turns to scold him. "You're taking her out? After I specifically told you she was with the Fleuret Group _?_ "

Noctis chooses not to answer, ditching the grumpy pants as he trudges back upstairs and quickly begins getting ready. He hears a loud thud from below as Ignis collapses wearily onto the bottom of the stairs.

"I still think this is a bad idea Noctis," he calls.

" _All_  of my ideas are bad ideas to you." Noctis laughs, smoothing the pointed lapels of his jacket before buttoning it closed. "Remember when I started Lucis Corp out of my basement?"

"That is a totally irrelevant example and you know it.  And for the record, it was your parent’s  _wine cellar._ "

"Was it really?" Noctis says, running his fingers through his hair, wondering if he should actually use hair gel for once.  It was hard to tell if Claire was annoyed or fascinated by it; the whole time during lunch; her eyes just kept returning to that spot. 

"I'm not going to be around forever Noct."

"Thank the Maker. For a minute there I was afraid you'd turn out to be my soul mate." Noctis tries to joke, but Ignis ignores the quip. After a few minutes transpire, Noctis finally saunters out, smartly-dressed, hair gel-less and ready for his date. He strikes a mock seductive pose at the top bannisters of the staircase and pouts like a cover girl straight of a porn magazine.

He turns back and forth.  "How do I look?  The tie too much?”

"You’re an idiot.”

Noctis snickers before he descends the staircase, giddily going down two at a time. The anticipation for tonight's events is killing him as he struggles to contain it.  He is so distracted he almost trips over Ignis the base of the staircase.  Serious grey eyes glare at him indignantly.

"Sorry, missed a step."

Ignis pulls himself up, shaking his head. 

Noctis exhales. "Let it  _go_  Ignis."

"This is a disaster waiting to happen, I'm telling you."

"Come  _on_  Ignis," Noctis groans, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "What if I actually  _like_  this girl? What if she's…the _one_ ,"

"Then we're all going to hell," Ignis replies, prising Noctis' hands off himself.

"I mean it. I think she's  _different._ "

"No, I think it's because she said ' _no'_."

"The word 'no' is a very subjective term. A lot of women throw it around just to play hard to get. But underneath; they like being chased. Take this Claire woman for example. I think deep down she actually  _likes_ the attention. She's just got a hell of a poker face, that's all." 

"No,” Ignis deadpans, poking him in the chest “I think 'no' actually means  _'no'_  in her case Noct.”

"Ahh well, what is faith without the non-believers?" Noctis sighs as Ignis follows him into the living room where he plucks his wallet and keys from the coffee table.  “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I hope you learn your lesson,” Ignis mutters.

Noctis pretends he doesn’t hear that one.  

* * *

The Prima Vista, atop of the BhunivelzeTower on the upper west side is the hotspot for the quintessential dining experience of the very rich or the very lucky. Its candlelight setting is perfect for couples and lovers alike, and the view it boasts of the entire city is a pleasure made available only those willing to pay the extra gil.

He credits himself for being able to get a last minute-booking tonight as this evening the Prima Vista seems to be even busier than usual what with the cacophony of clanking silverware, dinner table conversations and the odd trolley creaking back and forth noisily as it carries gleaming trays to their destinations. The well-hidden speakers have Daft Punk’s Get Lucky playing in the background to add to the ambience.   At the bar he has just finished off a shot of Macallan when a man slides into the seat next to his.  The bartender smiles welcomingly. 

“Your poison, friend?”

“It’s a weekday,” the man says, eyeing Noctis’ empty glass almost wistfully.  “No poison for me.  A glass of coke would be nice, thanks.”

“Coming right up!”

“Here on business?” Noctis asks as the man checks his watch impatiently.    

“Always,” the man sighs, running a hand through his hair.  The coke arrives, but he doesn’t reach for it immediately. “What about you?  Business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both,” Noctis smiles.

“Must be nice.”

“You should try it.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Just don’t wait till you’re old and grey,” Noctis teases as he turns back to the front counter where the maitre’d is greeting patrons.  _Where is she?_

“Coming from someone looking as nervous as you, I think I’ll take my chances” the man remarks. He fiddles with the straw but continues to leave his drink untouched. 

“This one’s smart,” Noctis replies, resisting the urge to check his phone for the time.  

“And that's a bad thing?”

“If she’s smart she won’t show,” he explains. 

The man smiles wryly.  “Why?  Did you give her a reason to?”

“Actually," Noctis winks, "I didn’t give her much choice at all.”

“And you’re still alive to tell the tale,” the man says, swirling the ice around in his glass.  Still he refuses to take a sip.  “You’re either very confident or very arrogant.  I assume you have an exit strategy if she doesn't come?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t.”

“I’ve never needed one,” Noctis replies,wagging his eyebrows up and down in suggestion. A flash of pink at the front counter catches his eye and he sees Claire smiling and making small talk with the maitre'd. The man offers to escort her but she politely smiles and declines, choosing to make the journey alone.  He sees the maitre'd's face fall and the grin on his face grows wider.  _Sorry man.  I saw her first._

His eyes immediately travel to the black number she is in and his throat runs dry as her curves easily overwhelm the outfit's failed attempt at a modest design. He feels a swell of pride seeing the wandering eye of every other male in the restaurant follow her as she walks over, and revels in the fact knowing that she is here for him, and him alone. _Not so smart after all,_ he thinks.  As he stands, so too does the man, his coke in hand. Behind Claire another man follows, making no secret of the fact that he is enjoying the view. 

The man beside Noctis mutters something foul under his breath and holds out the drink. 

“Your friend?” Noctis presumes.

“We’re not friends, trust me,” he grumbles as Claire arrives. 

Noctis holds out his arm and smiles, Claire reaches out-

but only to take the drink from the man beside him.  

For the first time in his life, Noctis is struck completely stupid.  Meanwhile, the man who was previously behind her steals Noctis' seat at the bar and begins ordering a drink.

_What the hell...._

“You’re late,” Claire's companion tells her irritably while she drains her coke it to half-way.  “And don’t you dare think a pretty dress is going to help you worm your way out of this one."

“Sorry Rosch,” she smiles.  “I got stranded in a bar full of horny males the next city over.  Shall we?” As she lets the other man lead the way to their table she sneaks a wink at Noctis.

_You._

_Fucking._

_Bitch._

He stands there staring blankly like an invalid with his jaw somewhere on the hardwood floor until he notices a few of the Prima Vista’s patrons watching him curiously.  It is enough to break him out of his reverie and steel his resolve. And then he starts walking; one hand sliding into his pant pocket to whip out his phone and press a number he has on speed dial.  While he listens to it ring his molars grind up a storm behind his lips. With every passing second rage and lust becomes the only world he knows.  

 _She did not just_ -

“Get naked,” he grits out as soon as it is answered.  “I’m on my way.”


	4. "I'm Fine, Everything's Fine."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Deceiver, dissembler  
> Your trousers are alight  
> From what pole or gallows  
> Do they dangle in the night?"  
> -Unknown

Seated at a table beneath the shade of one of Café Oerba's large umbrellas, Light passes the menu back to the waiter after making her order.  He turns to the man across from her and grins.  _Smile like that could light a room_ , she thinks idly.

“Sir?”

Rosch remains quiet and continues to try to bore holes through her head with his eyes.  It’s difficult fighting the temptation to touch her forehead to make sure it hasn't turned to stone because it’s the very same look he has on his face when he’s conducting an interrogation. It's additionally equally difficult trying to refrain from smirking.  Anyone who knows Rosch knows he does not leave his seat for anything or _anyone_ , and only for the Primarch  _if,_  he deems the reason prudent enough.  She really can’t be blamed for wondering if  _twice_  in twenty-four hours is a new record. 

She clears her throat loudly. 

Medusa finally turns his gaze on the boy standing beside him, and Light coughs to hide a laugh.  “I’ll have the same.”

“Awesome!” he says cheerfully, jotting it down quickly on the tiny notepad in his hand.  She catches a slight accent in his speech.  “So that’s two cappuccinos, and two toasties.  I’ll be back in a sec.”

After he’s disappeared, Rosch gives her a blank expression.  “ _Toastie_?” 

In that condescending tone of voice, she can't tell if he's simply lost or doesn't at all appreciate the slang.  She improvises.  “A toastie's a toasted sandwich.  Fang told me,” she adds when he frowns.  

He's quiet as he takes this in.  “He could have just said that,” he says finally. 

“It’s what’s written on the menu,” Light sighs.  "And this cafe  _is_ owned by a Pulsian." 

The PSICOM Director clasps his hands neatly on the table and if at all possible, regards her even more sternly. She braces herself.  “About the Prima Vista,”

“You owed me a drink, didn't you?  I got to choose the place.”

“You were meant to be meeting someone.  I don't appreciate being used.  You should have cancelled.”

“As if you wouldn’t find a way to make me pay for it later,” she snorts. “You wanted to meet; I met.”

“No,  _I_  wanted to meet, and the location and time was perfect for  _you_ to manipulate someone into getting…whatever idea it was you wanted into their head,  _into_ their head.”

“It’s amazing how you find reading people much easier than understanding the language they speak.”

“Explain yourself before I send you to Nabaat.”

“It’s a favour,” Light replies, watching a lovey-dovey couple a few seats away leaning in close to each other and laughing quietly amongst themselves.  

"Didn't look like you were doing him any."

“That's all you're getting out of me.”  

“Right.” He produces a flash drive from his jacket pocket and her good mood dissolves instantly. Her reaction makes him laugh.  “There’s no need to get so worked up.  It’s just a little reconnaissance.” 

“ _Right_.”

The waiter arrives and sets their orders down in front of them.  "Two toasties and two cappuccinos, as promised," he chirps.  At ' _toastie_ ' Rosch’s eye twitches in irritation.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"We're good, thanks," Rosch says in a clipped tone.  

"Enjoy!"

As quick as the boy comes and goes the polite smile on her face evaporates.  “The NORA Assignment,” Light says.  “You had me stranded on Pulse for _three_  years for ‘just a little reconnaissance’."  

Rosch is silent for a moment.  And then,

“The NORA assignment was not that bad.”

"I had _no_ back up, _no_ weapons—.”  

"A good agent improvises."

“-and then they summoned  _Ragnarok-_ ” 

“And you defeated it,” Rosch waves it off _._  

“I’m on  _vacation_.”

“Think of this as a holiday assignment.”

She slides the storage device back to him before she crushes it with her heels.  “ _No_.”

The flash drive makes a return trip but this time he holds it there, along with her gaze.  “You’re the most qualified person for this.”

“And here I was thinking PSICOM hired people to fill up office space.”

“You’re going to get bored on your vacation.”  

“No I’m not.”

“ _Everyone_  does.  It’s statistically proven.”

She thinks of the look of pure disbelief on Noctis’ face from the night before and snorts.  “Don’t be so sure.”

“Look, I just need you to baby-sit.  A routine observe and report—that’s all I want you to do.”

She raises her cup to her lips and regards him shrewdly over the steam.  “Doesn’t sound so ‘routine’ if you have to cut into  _my_  vacation time to ask. Besides, I can think of a lot of other agents who’d happily trade their left nut to have an assignment like this.”

“This is important.  Intel came from outside.”

"Is it reliable?"

" _Very_."

"How much did you have to pay to get it?"

"Nothing," Rosch says, biting into his toasted sandwich.  At Light's expression he elaborates.  “Sometimes as an intelligence agency we don’t have to go searching for information. Sometimes, our friends just show up on our front door and give it to us.”

“You have friends.” She laughs at the revelation.

“So you’ve heard of the term.”

She takes a long drink of her cappuccino to stop herself from saying the first, sarcastic thing that comes to mind in response to that. “I don’t have to leave the country?”

“You’ll have to make a few concessions if the civilian decides to.”

She huffs.  “Do they travel often?”

“You know, I can always pull rank and just order you to do it.”

“So do it," she snaps.

"But then you'd just do the mission half-assed.  So I'm trying to ask nicely."

Light purses her lips.  "I have two conditions; seeing as you're asking 'nicely'." 

His eyes narrow.  “Go on.”

 _Serah's going to kill me._ Light takes the flash drive and slips it into her purse.  "First, if I do this, I do this my way."   

“Don't you want back-up?"

"Funny."

"And the other?”

“I want Rygdea’s BMW…”

“That old piece of junk?" he scoffs.  "You have a perfectly good Integra sitting in your garage." 

“I know.  I want the BMW crushed into scrap metal.”

Rosch looks at her reproachfully.  “He loves that car.”

“I loved my CV,” Light shrugs. 

Rosch pulls out his cell phone and makes a call while she eats.  "Done," he says, finally.  

Light frowns.  This whole negotiation has gone along a lot more smoothly than expected.  “What are you smiling about?”

In answer, he presses a button on his cell phone and passes it over.  As her index finger swipes from one image to the next on the touchscreen she sees a bird’s-eye view of the entire residence including a swimming pool out back and blueprints of a luxury two-storey house.  It distracts her from her initial apprehension earlier, and her mind begins forming possible escape scenarios in the event of danger.   

“Your thoughts?” 

His voice sounds far away to her.  “Too much glass,” she murmurs.  “The whole place is a sniper’s wet dream.”

“Ahh well, he likes it that way.”

The next images are of nothing of particular interest; just the owner’s obnoxious car collection until she sees a dated model that looks vaguely familiar. Her finger starts swiping across the screen faster and she tries not to think about the slim odds of a person owning a car of that make in an age like this.

She gives a quiet, resigned sigh when the clear image of Noctis Lucis Caelum leaning against that very car smiles (or rather, smirks) at her from the tiny monitor.  On his arm and smiling demurely in a white sundress is Stella Nox Fleuret.  Despite the evident contrast in personalities the two of them together make a very attractive couple.

“Happier times,” Rosch says of the photograph. "You and Stella were roommates, weren't you?  I did a little research of my own.  To think I thought you the only master manipulator in this little triangle."

"She's not manipulating me."

"All she has to do is cry and she's got you slaying dragons for her,” Rosch points out snidely.  “I'm almost tempted to hire her on that very basis."  

She keeps her tone even and changes the subject.  “Why are youso interested in Caelum?”

Rosch takes back his phone and begins tapping at the screen.  “In his spare time he’s an avid collector of crystals and all items rare and unobtainable.  Sometimes he goes on explorations of his own.  He’s also a certified airship pilot.”

“Of course he is,” Light rolls her eyes.   

“According to reports, he recently returned from a dig in Niflheim about three months ago.”

“So we’re spying on civilians now, is it?  I know our organization is founded on paranoia but this is a whole new low.”

“We weren’t spying on him,” Rosch growls, sliding his phone across to her vehemently.  “He just so happened to be seen in the company of this person _._ At Rosch’s words an image of Noctis and a man whose face is obscured by a white hood shows them getting out of the same car together. Though the other man's face is cleverly hidden to prevent identification, he remains very famous, or rather infamous in PSICOM.    

 _The Cloaked Man: Niflheim's most wanted._ She sits up straighter in her seat, feeling her pulse race.  "You got him."

Rosch shakes his head.  "He slipped away before we could." 

“Damn.  And Caelum?  How does a civilian get mixed up in all of this?”

"It's highly likely Noctis was meeting him to buy crystals he stole from Niflheim’s temples."

“So arrest Caelum under suspicion of financing terrorism.  One session with you and he’ll be squawking like a chocobo.”

“We don’t have enough proof and he has Ignis Scientia as a lawyer.  If we arrest him now who knows when the Cloaked Man will resurface."

"What about the crystals?"

"They're worth ten to fifteen thousand gil at the very most; hardly enough to fund a mass genocide.  So I need you to watch Caelum; find out exactly when and where their next meetings will take place.  We’ll move when the time is right.”

“You really think Caelum's going to tell me?"

"I really think you should ask him nicely."  

***

It is a little after two o’clock in the afternoon at Lucis Corp and Ignis is just about to head off to lunch when he opens the door to Noctis with two steaming cups of coffee, two plastic containers of sandwiches and a paper bag full of muffins in hand. 

“So you really  _are_  wearing contacts.  I thought they were joking.”

"You thought who was joking?"

"The interns.  Your stock's gone through the roof."

Ignis remains unfazed.  “Are you finished?”

“The interns are  _cute_.  _And_  well-qualified _—_ you like that sort of thing, don’t you?”

"Lecher.  What do you want?”

“I thought we could run through my speech before the big day,” he says, shaking the paper bag pointedly. 

Ignis takes the muffins, then stands aside to let him in.  Noctis makes himself at home and begins opening one of the containers.  “I thought you weren’t doing it.”

“I made a promise to Nautilus, didn’t I?" he says in between bites "And besides, Caelum men keep their promises.”

 _Since when?_   _"_ Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The whole process doesn’t take more than forty minutes at the most, but Noctis purposefully hangs back and strays to the windows as if conflicted about something. Ignis prefers that he not know what about, so he decides to distract him from it. 

“So, how was last night?”

For someone who was looking forward to that event like he had just won the lottery, the latter is strangely non-committal. “Meh.  She showed up.” 

“I’m sure she did more than that.”

He laughs, but it sounds forced. "Well, it wasn't what I expected, I’ll give her that."

“But you did spend the night at her place, right?” Ignis confirms.  Noctis shrugs and starts tracing patterns on the glass absently.  

“ _Noct-_ ”

"I  _did_ tell you not to wait up _."_  

“There’s no need to be so cryptic,” Ignis says tiredly.  “A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed.”

“She starts on Monday.   My new Executive Assistant.” He laughs quietly to himself.  “Yeah, that’s not clichéd  _at all_.” 

Ignis looks at him incredulously.  “You hired her.”

“It’ll be interesting to have her around.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Noctis snaps.  “ _You’re_  the one who's been hounding me to hire someone to help out, and now that I _have_ —” 

“Noct, are you _out of your_ _mind_?  She’s  _PSICOM_.”

“I can handle her, trust me.”

 _I’m not so sure about either of those things this very moment._ “Maybe you should think about this.” 

“I gave her my word," Noctis tells him starkly.  "I’m not about to go back on it.”

“It doesn’t matter.  Letting her in could be dangerous.”

“Then I guess I’d better be careful, huh?” 

“Noct, listen to me.  I really don’t think—”

The door closing in Ignis’ face is the only answer he gets.  

***

The following Wednesday afternoon, after Ignis has finished his performance reviews for the month, he finds Noctis again outside, but this time his arm is around an attractive redhaired temp Ignis is certain works on another floor of the complex altogether.  From the way the two of them already have their eyes rooted to the space he occupies now, he knows he has to intervene before Noctis puts ideas into her head.  

“Really?” she giggles, “I can’t believe that.”

“Hey, don’t let the glasses fool you."  

“ _Ahem_ ,” Ignis says pointedly. Getting the hint, Noctis whispers something in her ear.  She laughs.  

"So I'll see you tonight then?"

The redhead nods.  

"Wonderful." Noctis now sidles over to Ignis, coffees and sandwiches in tow.  Behind him the woman smiles speculatively, eyes tracking Noctis' ass like a tiger about to pounce before she disappears down the hall with a sigh.  Noctis pretends he doesn't notice. "What happened to your contacts?"  

“Just get inside before I throttle you.”

After they eat, Noctis pulls out his speech for the Nautilus fundraiser from his jacket pocket and slides it over.  Ignis skims through it and frowns. 

“You didn’t make any changes.”

“Do you think it’s missing anything?”

“We went over this yesterday.  Everything’s spot on.”

“But do you think more could be added?” he presses. 

“There’s really not much more to be said on the topic; you’ve drained that dam dry, I’m afraid.  Anymore and you’d just be repeating yourself.  Besides, short is always sweet.  Let’s not forget that these people came to celebrate all the good that Nautilus has done, not  _remember_  the depressing reasons  _why_  it exists today…” he notices Noctis staring a little too hard at his forehead. 

“Noct?  You with me?”

“So there’s nothing wrong with the speech, right?  It’s good?”

“It’s inspiring.”

“So inspiring that you’d want to listen to it twice?”

“What?” Ignis laughs, but he sees no trace of humor in his friend’s eyes.  His tone is sardonic.  

“I mean, it’s the perfect speech, right?  You’d come back for more, wouldn’t you?”

“I thought you hated doing speeches.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m a lost cause,” Noctis grumbles, standing abruptly. 

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever.  Forget I said anything.”

“Noct, is everything—”

Again, the door closes before Ignis can get a word in edgewise.  Stretching  back in his seat he rubs his eyes tiredly and wonders if it’s time to take that much needed vacation his girlfriend’s been pestering him about.  That’s when his eyes fall upon the filing cabinet labelled _Personnel._ Turning slowly back to the seat Noctis was in previously, he realizes it is a little above eyelevel. 

He laughs and brushes off the thought.

Because it’s absurd. 

***

It isn’t absurd. 

He realizes this when Friday finally rolls around and rather than wait for him to open the door Noctis pushes past and drops into a chair, absolutely fuming. Ignis wants to tell him he’s tied his tie on backwards but decides to leave it alone and focus his attention elsewhere.  Like on the missing coffees and sandwiches, for instance.

"Who does she think she is?  Stupid bitch."

Ignis raises a brow.  "Are you talking about the redhead from Wednesday, or the brunette from Thursday?"

Noctis gives him a withering glance.  

"It's a very valid question Noctis."

Rather than answer, Noctis pulls out the speech Ignis is pretty sure contains zero alterations and shoves it hard into his chest. Then he stalks over to the windows and glares silently through the glass.  "Fix it."

Ignis contemplates rolling his speech up and smacking Noctis upside on the back of the head with it.  "There's nothing _to_ fix.  So if you don’t mind, I’m meeting a very important client for lunch—”  

“It got off to a good start, you know,” Noctis laughs humourlessly, “but in the end it was a lousy lay.”

Ignis clears his throat pointedly.  “So anyway—”

“I wasn’t thinking that night,” Noctis continues. “I don’t know what came over me.”

 _What night?_ “Noct, I really need to get going.  Can this wait till I get back?”

Noctis finally turns away from the windows, his voice as dead as his eyes.  “I didn’t even use protection.  What the hell.”

 _Who the hell is he talking about?_ “I’m sure she has enough sense for the both of you to take the morning after pill.”  _Whoever she is._

“I’m sure she does,” Noctis mutters, very unconvinced. 

“Did you make sure she did?”

“I left in a hurry.”

“So just call her then.”

“I don't have her number." 

Ignis goes over to the filing cabinet and opens it. "Last name?"  

Noctis mutters something incomprehensible.  

"I didn't catch that."

“Never mind,” he says distractedly, heading for the door.  “I’ll see you after your lunch.”

Ignis doesn’t see him after lunch. 

When he makes a trip up to Noctis’ office the redhead from Wednesday is outside with her hands crossed over her chest, looking very put out. 

“He took a half-day,” she sniffs. “We were supposed to go shopping for my dress tomorrow night.”

He turns and leaves. While riding the elevator down, the brunette he caught making out with Noctis in the printing room steps inside.  They stand in awkward silence until she finally looks at him. In an all-too-casual tone, she asks who ‘Claire Farron’ is. 

“Why?” 

“He had her file under his arm before he left.”

Huh.


	5. L'appuntamento

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Temptation is a twofold process. First you are coquettish, flirtatious; you stimulate a desire by promising pleasure and distraction from daily life. At the same time you make it clear to your targets that they cannot have you, at least, not right away. You are establishing a barrier, some kind of tension."  
> Robert Greene, The Art of Seduction

She’s in the middle of a waltz in Bhunivelze Tower’s large ballroom at the lavish Nautilus Annual Charity Fundraiser with Hope Estheim, concentrating on avoiding his heavy steps when the teenager trails off from his explanation about Fabula Nova Chrysalis mythology and flushes.

“What’s up?”

“I didn’t know you were friends with famous people,” he says, eyes suddenly on the floor like someone who has just been caught staring. 

“I’m not,” she laughs.  “What makes you say that?”

“Because Noctis Caelum’s looking _right this way_.” 

“Is he?”

“Behind me.”

“I can’t see over your shoulder, you _shoopuf_ ,” she grumbles as she cranes her neck.

“See, you _do_ know him,” the teen snickers.  She squeezes his hand hard enough to leave an imprint on his bones, making him wince. 

“I _don’t_.”

“Can you get him to sign my Alexander figurine please, please, please?”

“Why would you want his autograph?”

“So I can sell it on fbay,” Hope explains enthusiastically.  “I swear his fanbase is crazy for him.  Just last week my friend Noel from Oerba’s sold Caelum’s leftover glass of water for one _grand_.”

“That’s…disturbing.”

“I _know_ ,” the teenager says, grinning widely.  “And everyone knows Noctis Lucis Caelum does not sign anything other than contracts, cheques and restraining orders.  Think how much Alexander would go for.”

She shakes her head.  “Seriously, Hope.  I don’t know him.”

“Aww come on, I’ll split the proceeds: sixty-forty.”

“ _No_ ,” she says firmly. 

For only a short moment she enjoys Shimomura’s _Dearly Beloved_ currently being played by the Cocoon Philharmonic until she realizes they’ve slowed down, somewhat.  Then she sees the reason behind the roadblock and her partner’s dumbstruck stare. 

Noctis Lucis Caelum of Lucis Corp and one of Nautilus’ more generous benefactors is standing there, looking very debonair in a black tuxedo.  “Mind if I cut in?” he asks Hope. 

The boy nods and gingerly hands her over—as if the man has a gun pointed to his temple.  He smiles nervously at Noctis’ very stunning, albeit very put out dance partner and as he whisks her away, the music changes. Unlike Hope, Noctis’ movements are graceful and leonine, an angel in black gliding on hardwood.  A bit of the tension inside her disappears and she starts to enjoy herself.  She has to admit she is slightly relieved that Hope’s gone—she’s certain her feet are all but pancake-flat by now, if not very, very sore. 

“That was an inspiring speech you gave,” she says conversationally. 

“You liked it.” He sounds surprised by this.

“It’s nice knowing that Lucis Corp isn’t just another faceless multinational throwing Gil and not caring where it lands.”

“Now if only I could get people to believe I actually wrote it…”

“Something tells me you constantly give them a reason not to.  I’m Serah, by the way,” she says as he spins her out and then back in again.  “Serah Farron.”

“Noctis."

Not knowing what next to say to her sister’s charming new nemesis, she contents herself with smiling politely at him and humming along to Uematsu’s _Aerith_. Oh, and swimming a few laps in those beautiful blue eyes, of course.

“You know,” he says while he looks over the other dancing couples in attendance “I met another Farron just a few days ago.”

“Did you?” Serah can’t help but smile. 

“She had the same shade of pink hair,” he recalls.  “Easy on the eyes too, though not quite so lovely or warm.  There’s no way you two could be related.”

Serah smiles at the description he gives—it’s very specific, very spot on; very _her_.  “My sister, Lightning.”

“ _Lightning_?”  

“The nickname the Director gave her while growing up.”

“Director.  As in acting troupe?”

“As in _orphanage_ ,” Serah explains.  “Our parents died when we were very young.  So every year we come back to Nautilus—those of us who _can,_ anyway—and see if we can’t do anything to pitch in. It’s the least we can do.  Unfortunately, my sister seems to think auctioning her ticket and remitting the proceeds is 'pitching in'.”

“I see.  And ‘Lightning’?” he asks, a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth.  “What’s the story behind that?”

Serah pokes him playfully.  “That’s cheating.”

“Have you _met_ your sister?”

The younger Farron laughs and feels herself sympathizing—just a little bit.  

“Plus you don’t at all look like a person who’d throw an innocent to the wolves,” he adds slyly.

“No, they...usually throw _themselves_ in,” Serah replies, earning a quiet chuckle on his part.

“You know what Serah, I like you."

"And that's a good thing?"

"A _very_ good thing." 

“I think my fiancé would take issue with that,” Serah laughs. _So charming._   

“He’s here isn’t he?” he says, following her gaze to the punch table.  “Is he the…”

“He is,” she says, feeling somewhat proud as she blows Snow a kiss.

“The Viking who looks like he wants to smash my face in," Noctis pronounces flatly.  " _That’s_ your fiancé.”

“No, that’d be my  _sister_ smashing your face in.  Though my fiancé would probably be the one holding you down,” she adds as an afterthought.

He leads them away to another corner of the ballroom—more for safety than a change of scenery, Serah thinks with a laugh.  _I’ll make it up to Snow.  Hmm…Snow…_

“You know, if you want help with my sister, he’s the one you should go to for advice.  They’re best friends,” she explains, seeing the dubious expression on his face.

"I thought you said this was cheating," he raises an eyebrow.

“We’re at a charity ball, aren’t we?”

“That we are,” he agrees with a smile.  “So Serah.  Are you free to join me for brunch tomorrow, say eleven o’clock at Café Oerba? You can bring your Viking along, if you want."

Serah tilts her head, mulling it over. “Eleven o’clock, you say?”

*  *  *

At precisely eleven o’clock on a crisp Sunday morning, Claire Farron drops into the seat across from him with as much grace as a petulant child and glares.  At least, he’s sure she’s glaring—even with the dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes, he can still feel an unnatural chill in the summer air.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

“You’re not Serah,” Noctis says, without looking up from his cell phone.  Just a few more emails to the office and then he can have her all to himself. 

“She’s _engaged_ , you lecher.”

It's strange: he usually finds it amusing every time Ignis says it, but when Claire does it in the exact same monotone—it irks him somehow.  “If it makes you feel better I told her to bring her Viking along.” _Her friendly neighbourhood Viking who looks like he bench-presses airships,_ he adds internally _._

“You’re not her type.” 

“I was counting on that to be the case.”

“ _I’m_ not your type.”

 _That remains to be seen,_ he thinks as he slides his phone back into his pocket _._   “Hope you like cheese.  I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering— _what the hell happened to_ your arm _?_ ” he says, frowning at the sling her right one is in, along with the bandages on her shoulder.

“I fell,” she says, pulling the sunglasses off.

“Do a lot of falling in PSICOM, do we?”

“Sometimes I get do the pushing,” she shrugs, before wincing.  “You don’t happen to have any painkillers in those expensive pockets of yours, do you?”

He reaches across the table and traces a teasing circle on her good hand, marvelling at how soft it is.  “What would you do if I said I did?”

"I'd give you a reason to need it more than I would after I knee you where it counts," she says, pulling her hand back.

“Anyway,” he continues, somewhat perversely intrigued by the state she is in.  You just don’t see a lot of beautiful women out and about in Cocoon in cute strapless sundresses _and_ arm slings.  “What happened?”

“Watch the news this morning?”

“What time was that?”

She looks at him like he’s just told her that Chocobos shoot lasers out of their asses.  “In the _morning,_ Caelum.”

“No one’s awake that early.”

“Whatever.”

She thanks the waiter as he sets their order down in front of them.  Seeing how her left hand shakes as she tries to lift the teapot, he takes it from her and pours for the two of them, before reaching for the milk pot.  Their hands brush as she reaches for the sugar, and he’s no doctor, but he swears her temperature is just a little too high. 

“Milk?” he asks instead. There’s no doubt she’s going to brush off his concerns with another clever retort. 

“Yeah, thanks.”

Noctis wonders where all the hostility has suddenly gone.  _She_ must _be tired._ Though he has to admit, he likes her a _tiny_ bit better when she’s not looking at him like she wants to shoot him.  Or castrate him, whichever comes first.

“A hostage situation in Alexandria, in case you're wondering” Claire says. She drops two sugar cubes in her tea and yawns while she stirs. 

“That’s halfway across the world,” he says, hiding his incredulity. 

“I know.  But there are these _nifty_ little flying contraptions called _airships_ ,” she replies sarcastically. 

“You don't say." 

“I’ll buy you a ticket.”

“First class?”  He can’t decide if he wants to kiss or _strangle_ that snark out of her. 

“Sure,” she says, taking a bite out of a strawberry and then pointing it at him.  “First Class _Economy_.”

“I’ll hold you to that.  And you got hurt trying to save the hostage?”

“I _was_ the hostage.”

He laughs, then, but shortly afterward he convinces himself it doesn’t feel as if he’s laughed _like this_ in a while—because it's unnerving.  No one but his friends brings out this side of him, and she is definitely no friend of his. Especially with the way she's rolling her eyes at him right now.

"What?"

"You look at me like I'm going to do something horrible to you."

"I'm sure you remember our night at the Prima Vista." 

At the mention of that restaurant she smiles and bites her lip, holding in the laugh he's sure that’s lurking beneath the surface.  He shifts slightly in his seat and feels his knuckles tighten, more out of restraint than annoyance. It’s that rare smile again, the _alluring_ one, the one that forces him to forget how humiliated he was that night out of a masochistic compulsion to see it again. 

Makerdamn her.

Not trusting his voice, he starts eating.  Which…doesn’t really help.  Oerba’s usually boasts the best grilled ham and cheese in the city, but today the food seems to taste more like sandpaper for some reason.  _Talk about leaving a bad taste in the mouth._

"I _did_ tell you I had other commitments," she reminds him.  “And you _did_ leave me stranded in a bar in the middle of nowhere, so think of the Prima Vista as recompense.”

Noctis continues to keep his eyes averted.  It’s stupid, but easier to concentrate this way. “So who was he?” 

"My boss," Claire answers, biting into another strawberry.  Her eyes are locked on his face, as if waiting for a reaction.  He gives her none and makes elaborate work of his sandwich—like it’s Mako Science.

“He didn’t look happy.”

“He’s never happy.”

During the silence, her phone rings—there’s no musical ringtone; no current chart-topping number he's used to hearing, just a standard boring ring, like the one belonging to a landline.  He wonders if it’s a PSICOM thing or if it’s just her.  He also wonders if it’s standard PSICOM behaviour when he sees her just pull it out of her handbag but only to let it ring…

And ring…

And ring…

And...stop ringing because she’s pressed the End button.  Judging by how unfazed she is after doing so makes him suspect this is a habit of hers. 

He’s in the middle of biting into his second sandwich and she’s buttering her third scone with one hand (makes it look easy, too) when the phone starts beeping: one beep for every message received. He counts eleven before the beeping stops and the phone begins ringing again. 

“That could be your boss,” he tells her after she hits End for the fifth time.

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.  You know, Caelum,” she says, wiping off her hands with her napkin.

“ _Noctis_.”

The corner of her mouth twitches slightly. “I have to admit I wasn't expecting you to be so civil.  Unless of course you have a voodoo doll in my likeness and plan to push pins into it when this brunch is done?”

"Water under the bridge," he assures her.  "I think it’s the sight of seeing you in a sling that puts me at ease,” he smiles, looking her over brazenly. “Though you’re not totally off.  Voodoo dolls aside, I definitely _would_ like to push something into you.”

“ _’All you have to do is show up’_ ” she says in a mocking tone.  “Your exact words, Caelum.”

“A mistake I won’t make again,” Noctis promises, handing his plate and hers to the waiter before leaning in.  “Shall we discuss your appointment now?”

“You can’t be serious,” she laughs.  "The game's over Caelum.  I won." 

 _Not by a long shot._ “How good are your typing skills?”

“When my arm’s not in a sling?” he can’t help but smile at that one.  “Standard hundred words per minute. But you shouldn’t have to worry about that. I have a good memory.”

“Shorthand?”  The latter part he does not doubt, given her obvious thirst for retribution. 

“Yeah.”

“Take this down please.”

“Only because you said please,” she says, leaning back in her seat, her phone at the ready. 

“Dear Miss Farron.  As the Executive Assistant to the Chief Executive Officer of Lucis Corp—"

"Pardon me, is ‘slave driver’ spelt as one or two words?"

He smiles and ignores the quip.  "You will be expected to perform a variety of secretarial duties and to function efficiently and smoothly as my personal liaison with my staff and myself.  Although this will be based in the Cocoon Main Office, a significant amount of time will be spent on site visits, community consultation, and liaising with government departments and NGOs.  You will, at all times, adhere precisely to company policy, regardless of your ties with PSICOM. 

With that understanding in mind, if you participate in any activity that puts my company, my employees or myself in jeopardy, or gives our competitors an inside advantage I _will_ fire you on the spot and personally escort you out the front door.”  She raises an eyebrow at that and he nods, continuing.  “ _If_ , on the other hand, you show interest and initiative, I will delegate as much responsibility to you as you wish to accept and are capable of handling.  If this meets with your approval, report for work in my office at 9:00am this Monday,” he says.  "Any questions?" 

"Just the one: are we done here?"

"We're done."  _For now._

He rises out of his seat as she does, and helps drape her blazer over her shoulders.  Standing behind her in this close proximity, the pleasant scent of jasmine and rose from the moisturizer she uses dances around him, distracting him with very enticing images.   He manages to compose himself and stare coolly at her just as she turns around, apparently talking about something he's just subconsciously agreed to.

"...just a few blocks from here," she says apprehensively as her eyes meet his.  He tries not to stare at her lips, slightly reddened from all the strawberries she’s been eating.  "If it's not too much to ask.  My usual ride met with an unfortunate end...crushed into scrap metal."

"No problem at all." He means it.

The ride ends sooner than he'd like, outside a modest five storey apartment complex in a quiet, middle-class neighbourhood, and after he helps her out of the Mustang, he remembers.

"You still haven't given me an answer," he tells her while she makes her way to the door.  She pauses on the front steps, thinking.

"You're right," she agrees, turning back to him. She does it so suddenly that the skirt of her dress flutters upward a bit and along with a good view of her legs he also catches a glimpse of a tiny gun—a Beretta, if the number of action films he's watched have made him an expert—strapped to her thigh.

 _Beautiful_ and _dangerous,_ he thinks.

She proves him further correct about the ‘dangerous’ part when she’s suddenly got his collar in a vice-like grip. Her expression is completely emotionless; a cold-blooded executioner right before they release the guillotine.  He braces himself in case she decides to slam him back against his beloved, expensive car, but instead, he's being jerked forward, right toward her.  Right—

Her lips meet his— _take_ his, actually, and so abruptly and passionately that the gasp of surprise he lets out quickly turns into strangled moans of pleasure when she licks along the open seam of his lips and plunges in; hot, deep.

All he can think of is velvet.  

And strawberries.

The hand around his collar loosens and travels behind his neck, keeping their mouths fused, caressing his scalp while their tongues tangle and slide against each other.  _Where the hell did she learn to kiss like_ this _,_ he wonders.He’s no stranger to women throwing themselves at him, but he barely manages to keep up. And then he realizes she has no intention of letting him do so. Because before he can pull her flush against him, she wrenches his mouth away from hers and he's left breathing hard, eyes half-lidded with arousal while he leans back against the Mustang for support.  Claire meanwhile, looks completely unaffected...and quite triumphant, too.

 _I've been had,_ he realizes. 

He waits for her to gloat, but instead she leans in and with a much gentler grasp of his chin, presses a chaste kiss to his jaw.

" _Monday_ , Caelum.  Nine-o’clock.  Don’t be late," she whispers against his skin, before her gaze drifts downward.  She laughs quietly.  "You should...probably take care of that."

And with that, she's gone, out of sight but not out of mind, just like in the Prima Vista as the front door closes and clicks locked behind her. He's glad there's no one standing around in the street to see him almost trip over his feet while he staggers to the driver's seat and drops in. 

"Monday it is," he mutters, staring at the tent in his pants. 

_Makerdamn it, Noct._

The drive home that afternoon is especially long; though not as long as the hours it takes for Monday to arrive.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> This is, however, the end of the line unfortunately. Life's getting a bit too hectic. I've given up my other Lightis fics for adoption to another writer, so you may see them up here in altered forms...someday lmao.  
> Farewell!  
> -398_2


End file.
